


Antisocial Constructs

by scheherazade



Series: Nantoka Daigaku (College AU) [6]
Category: Tenimyu RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 23:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7911307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scheherazade/pseuds/scheherazade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The duffel bag feels light on his shoulders, and even the other bags he's carrying are like feathers. The weight of the semester fades, step by step, as he nears the train station, until it's all he can do not to break into a run when he turns the last corner and there — waiting by the steps — is Yata.</i><br/><br/><br/>Spring break, senior year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Antisocial Constructs

**Author's Note:**

> For Lily, who requested: "Hideya and Yata on the train to Osaka, Yata wants to say something but he has no idea how do it, when finally says that, he realizes that Hideya already knew." This got waaaay out of control. Beta by Mer, who 1) told me to write the college AU version of it, and 2) was subsequently crushed under a karmic avalanche of Hideyan feelings.  
>  

Mokkun makes a sound that might be mistaken for sympathy. "I mean, there's something to be said for tradition."

Yata isn't about to make that mistake. "Tradition is a tool of exclusionary groupthink, and I'll thank you not to associate me with any such concept." 

Mokkun laughs. Yata snatches the headphones back from his alleged friend, who seems intent on tying the cord into something that looks nothing like a boy scout approved knot. Not that Mokkun would know. He'd lasted all of two days in the boy scouts before — and this is Yata's working theory — everyone realized his inherent lack of wholesomeness made him a poor fit for the endeavor.

Yata untangles his headphones, wraps the cord neatly, and places the bundle in his backpack.

"Call it what you want," Mokkun says cheerfully, lounging on Yata's bed with his feet propped on some textbooks that he really needs to return to the library. "Anyway, I'm sure your parents will appreciate the introduction."

"My parents _tolerate_. Not appreciate. There's a difference." Yata shoves a binder into his backpack, which leaves next to no room for the rest of his clothes. Why does he have so much _stuff_? "And when tolerance runs out, we'll be right back to the YA cliche that was my high school career."

Mokkun snorts. But his voice is aggravatingly gentle. "Yata-chan, if your folks were planning to psychotherapy you out of being gay, they would've done it by now."

"I'm not gay."

"Sorry. Queer. See what I mean, though?" Mokkun is completely impervious to Yata's frigid glare. "Even an enlightened free spirit like myself needs time to adjust. Your parents are trying. Give them time."

"Yeah, well." Yata struggles with the zipper on his backpack, cursing materialism and shitty mass manufacturing. "They have exactly fourteen hours and twenty-three minutes to get over it."

"Your faith in train schedules is remarkable."

"Don't you need to pack, too?"

"I travel light," Mokkun says, and _giggles_ at the dirty look that Yata throws him. "Chill, would you? You're gonna scare Hideyan off, going home with that thundercloud over your head."

 _He should be scared,_ Yata doesn't say, because he refuses to actually be a YA cliche. His parents will make of Tawada Hideya what they will. His parents aren't the real problem. Anyway, it's not like Yata's never brought a friend home for the holidays. Mokkun himself had spent a memorable Christmas break parked under the kotatsu, watching heteronormative dramas and gossiping with Yata's mother about god only knew what. Yata had been occupied with a term paper, and ignoring his father's increasingly unsubtle questions about _your special friend, Yusuke — he seems like quite a character_.

 _Not really,_ Yata remembers saying finally. _He just chooses not to use his powers for good._

Except that's not true, not really. Because Mokkun is strange, sure, but mostly he's good-humored and casual and good-humoredly casual about things like rejecting the system and making out with your friends. _Low-key revolutionary_ , is his preferred self-description. 

If Mokkun weren't so up front about it all, Yata might have taken offense. Instead, he'd taken Mokkun home for the holidays and ignored the way his parents tried and failed to define what, exactly, was going on with their son and the people he chose to spend his time with.

Sometimes, Yata thinks he doesn't even know himself.

And he's been okay with that. Wanted that, even: a freedom of sorts, a way of hurling himself into open water to see how far he can struggle before the current pulls him under. He always expected to sink. Some part of him would've preferred that to being washed up, when he never asked for dry land, much less an anchor.

And that's a stupid metaphor, he thinks. Tawada Hideya is the least anchor-like person Yata has ever met.

His hands tighten of their own accord, yanking sharply on the stubborn zipper — and it finally closes. The backpack bulges oddly, but holds firm.

"Done," Yata mutters to himself. "Amazing."

Mokkun lets out an unironic whoop. "Good work, team."

Yata rolls his eyes as he places the backpack by the door for tomorrow. "Yeah, you really contributed a lot to this effort. Oh, wait."

"I'm here for moral support," Mokkun laughs. He finally gets up from Yata's bed. His voice is doing that gentle thing again. "Seriously, though. Relax. It'll be fine."

"I _am_ relaxed," Yata snaps at him.

Mokkun raises both eyebrows.

Yata scowls. "Relaxation is a social construct."

The hug surprises him. "Stop trying to live up to your own impossible standards, Yata-chan," Mokkun says with that same damned gentleness. "Those are actually constructs. Antisocial constructs, in your case."

"Shut up," Yata mutters right back. He shoves Mokkun toward the door. There's not much force behind the push, but Mokkun goes willingly enough. The way he always does. Easy come, easy go.

Maybe that's why, Yata thinks.

 

* * *

 

_Before you go, can you check if I turned off lights/powered down electronics/etc in my room??_  
_I forgot before we left this morning, I'm so sorry..._

Hideya smiles at the text. In the three years they've been living together, his roommate has never once forgotten to turn off a light or lock the door. Not that it stops Ikkei from worrying about burglars or an electric surge destroying their tiny off-campus apartment.

He's better about it these days, Hideya thinks, since he spends so much time with Mario-kun. But Ikkei will always be Ikkei at heart. And that's nice to know, too.

Hideyan dutifully checks Ikkei's room — lights off, windows latched, everything unplugged to conserve electricity in the upcoming week — and texts back:

_Checked! ( ・∀ ・)ゞ_  
_All quiet on the western front_

Ikkei must've been hovering over his phone. _Thank you!!_ His relief is practically audible. _Have a good break Hideyan. Mario says let's get dinner when we all get back._

_NP! You too, and ok!! Have a great time!_

Smiling, Hideya locks the door behind himself and heads for the train station. 

It's a bright, clear day. A perfect start to a perfect spring break. And to think, just a week ago, he'd been resigned to spending the week by himself in Tokyo while everyone else went home. He'd tried to look on the bright side — he could go swimming or practice piano whenever he wanted, since the pool and practice rooms would all be empty — but something must've given it away.

Something that made Yata-chan say, abruptly, over dinner last Thursday, _If you want to go home for break, you can stay with me. In Osaka._

Hideya smiles to himself again, remembering. 

The duffel bag feels light on his shoulders, and even the other bags he's carrying are like feathers. The weight of the semester fades, step by step, as he nears the train station, until it's all he can do not to break into a run when he turns the last corner and there — waiting by the steps — is Yata. 

Hideya checks the urge to call out to him when he realizes Yata is holding his phone to his ear and frowning at the world in general. It must be an important call.

Hideya walks forward quietly, hovering sort of within sight just in case—

Yata sees him. Abruptly, he puts his phone away. Hideya hurries the rest of the way over.

"Hey," says Hideya, feeling a little breathless even though he didn't actually run here. "Sorry, didn't meant to interrupt your call."

"It was just Mokkun. He's going to Hawaii."

Hideya blinks; he didn't know Mokkun had family outside the country? Or — well, maybe he's going by himself. Or not by himself, judging by the way Yata's rolling his eyes.

"Sounds exciting," Hideya says gravely.

"Too exciting." Yata's lip quirks, a fleeting expression that says he didn't actually plan on smiling but some part of him can't help it. Hideya likes that one. "Anyway, hey yourself," Yata says. "Ready to go?"

" _So_ ready." Hideya can't help the grin on his own face either. "I could just teleport to Osaka right now, honestly."

"Got a teleporter in one of those bags?"

"What? Oh!" Hideya shuffles the various things he's carrying, looking through them to make sure — yes, this one. He holds out the long rectangular bag. "This is for you — well, your parents. All of you. Since you're hosting me."

Yata looks at the bag. "Is it a teleporter?"

"It would be called a tele _portal_ , first of all." Hideya laughs. "And no — it's, um, it's wine. Moriyama-sensei helped me pick out something that he said is good, since I mentioned — I don't really know a lot about it. But. Do your parents drink?"

Maybe he should have asked that earlier, Hideya realizes, as Yata's expression clouds over suddenly. Oops. Hideya frantically thinks of what else he has on him that could possibly double as a gift — the snacks he'd brought for the train ride? Candy seems like a weird gift. And the cake might be pretty squashed by the time they get to Osaka—

Then Yata says, "Thank you." He hefts the bag in his hand, then looks straight at Hideya. "I'll carry this. But you should give it to them yourself. When we get there."

"Of course. Okay." Hideya feels caught between relief, which is making his knees weak, and the look in Yata's eyes, which is — also making his knees weak. He pulls himself together. "Okay. So. Shall we go?"

The clear spring morning rumbles with the sound of trains, flower petals beneath their feet. 

Yata smiles. "Yeah. Let's go home."

 

* * *

 

They take over a pair of window seats, a little foldout table between them. Yata doesn't even ask before taking the backwards facing seat; he knows Hideya likes watching the upcoming scenery instead of staring at the tracks receding behind them.

 _I think there's something poetic about it,_ Yata had said, the one and only time Hideya mentioned it. _There's an Amerindian culture that imagines the future as being behind us — because we can only see what is already in front of our eyes: the past._

It's so typically Yata, to take a mundane little preference and tie it to some higher truth and beauty. Yata was made for grand, beautiful things.

But Yata also remembers the mundane little details. Hideya loves that about him. Yata has what Ikkei calls "a freaky brain" — which is obvious to everyone, in the way Yata memorizes lines for drama club, and in the way he can spontaneously construct an oral argument that would take other people days and days and pages of bibliographical references to put together.

Less obvious is the way Yata uses it to remember things that are important to his friends.

Ikkei still hasn't noticed, for example, that _someone_ magically changed the drama club schedule so that it wouldn't conflict with baseball games. Ikkei probably would've come to some of Hideya's shows anyway, but this way, Ikkei can cheer on both his roommate and his boyfriend and not feel bad about doing either. 

Hideya's thought about telling Ikkei, more than once. Each time, he decides against it. Ikkei hates being indebted to other people. Also, Hideya likes being — maybe — the only person who knows these things about Yata.

 _Yata-chan is many and contains multitudes,_ Ikkei likes to say. Because everyone seems to see a different side of him, depending on how you look and what you're looking for. Most people see the smart, snarky, destined-for-post-grad student. Some people find Yata intimidating. Certain people know that he's a terrible flirt — especially if Mokkun is around — but it's never serious, it's all just a game.

Yata is scathing. Yata is coy. Yata has no friends, people say, only a world full of candidates to be judged as either basic or adequate. It's hard to say which category Ikkei falls into. Maybe both. Mokkun is adequate. Mario-kun is definitely not, even though Mario is trying his best to be informed and go to every Rainbow Alliance meeting, and not just to spend time with Ikkei.

Hideya feels like he should be better friends with Mario, maybe. They have a lot in common.

And yet. 

And here's the thing, right. Because even though Hideya is more like Mario than Ikkei, and nowhere close to being as unflappably cool as Mokkun — even so: Yata-chan has never once judged him.

Yata has also never once flirted with him. Not like he does with other people. Yata goes with him when Hideya's craving ice cream, and Yata says, "Come with," when there's an art film playing at the local cinema, and sometimes they sneak into the student center after hours to play with the karaoke machine and talk about drama club and class and life — but Yata doesn't flirt. 

Though Hideya has caught him looking, sometimes. Like right now: Yata with his headphones on, apparently staring out the window, while Hideya eats his snacks and catches up on last week's _Jump_.

Yata's looking at him, even though there's nothing poetic about Hideya.

It's taken him a long time to figure it out. Nearly three years. But now, they're going home — to Osaka — to the house where Yata grew up — and Hideya thinks he can say this much, at least, with certainty.

Yata likes him.

So he doesn't look up, even though he knows Yata's watching him. Yata will say what's on his mind when he's ready to do so, and asking won't hurry it along. Yata likes his words to be perfect, when it matters, and if that means sitting through most of a class period before coming up with the perfect closing argument, then that's what he'll do.

Though — and Hideya feels a little giddy just thinking about it — this is something that's taken Yata a long, long time to put into words, if he counts back to the very first time he caught Yata watching him with those eyes, more than two years ago.

So it must be something _awfully_ good.

 

* * *

 

Maybe it's the way he said it, or maybe it's the way Hideya's face lit up at the mention of _home_.

Yata knows how much Hideya misses Osaka. It's hard to miss, with the way he'd been moping last week, wandering around campus with a vaguely lost expression like he doesn't understand why he's walking to class when he should be running to catch a train instead.

His parents were out of the country, he explained when Yata asked. And they were remodeling the house, so it was uninhabitable. _Guess I'm too old to be getting homesick anyway,_ Hideya laughed, or at least tried to laugh. It was one of the more heartbreaking sounds Yata had ever heard.

He's smiling now, Hideya — reading some trashy manga series, a small pile of candy wrappers on the table between them — effortlessly happy — and the sharp pang it sends through Yata's chest makes no sense whatsoever.

Or, rather, it'd be easier if it made no sense. 

But Yata's not stupid, and moreover, Yata refuses to be willingly oblivious; that would be a worse sin than simple lack of intelligence. 

He's just trying to decide if he'd rather be hypocritical or a coward.

 _A crush is a harmless thing,_ he remembers telling Ikkei, one unremarkable weekend during freshman year. _Just because heterocultural media equates interest with intent does not excuse those of us with working brains from living like real human beings — and that means separating the superficial from the real._

Ikkei had given him a flat look, then dumped a pile of flyers into his arms, with instructions to attach them to every available surface around campus to promote the newly-revived Rainbow Alliance. 

Three years later, Ikkei is practically married to a varsity jock, and Yata — Yata realized much, much too late that Tawada Hideya has long since gone from being a harmless piece of eye candy (and occasional study partner) to, well, this.

Someone who walks Yata to class when he can and sits with him at mealtimes, sleepy-eyed in the mornings and wired fit to burst in the afternoons.

Someone who joined the drama club when Yata desperately needed one more member for funding reasons — and turned out to be a natural at musical improv.

Someone who always brings enough snacks for an entire study group, even when it's just the two of them, because Ikkei and Mario "lost track of time" "again".

Someone who listens intently to Yata's rants and ramblings — not to laugh at him later or poke holes in his theory — but just because he _wants_ to.

Someone who respects Yata's space, despite all that, and who hasn't said a word since Yata put on his headphones when the train left the station.

Not even Mokkun would have let him get away with this level of antisocial behavior. And Ikkei would've at least kicked him under the table, and then pretended it was an accident when Yata continued to ignore him. 

Hideya just sits there, feet tucked neatly beneath him and smiling at whatever manga he's reading, happy to be going home to Osaka. 

There's a difference, between the superficial and the real.

Yata takes off his headphones.

 

* * *

 

"What are your thoughts on marine life?"

Hideya looks up, and Yata is looking straight at him. Headphones around his neck, hair caught in a splash of sunlight, expression intense as he's ever seen.

"Um," says Hideya, very intelligently. "I think they swim?"

There's a pause.

"Apart from the ones that, you know—" Hideya makes a scuttling motion with his fingers, because he can't remember the word just then, not with the way Yata's looking at him.

His face feels hot.

Yata doesn't laugh at him, though. Just says, after a long pause, "I phrased that badly." He leans forward, one hand on the table resting atop Hideya's copy of _Jump_. "What I meant was, do you want to go to the aquarium? In Osaka."

Hideya blinks. "Oh. Sure!" He remembers going once, when he was little; he remembered thinking the aquarium was like a magical world. Of course, at the time, he'd also wanted to be Ariel when he grew up. The memory is like a warm bubble of happiness. He finds himself smiling — though that smile falters when he realizes Yata is still watching him, like that's not the answer he wanted. "Wait. Do _you_ want to go to the aquarium?"

"I thought that you might like the whales," Yata says. "Or other aquatic creatures. Manatees, maybe."

"I like dolphins."

"I find dolphins a bit creepy."

"You what?" Hideya can't quite hide the surprise in his voice. 

"They're known to be sexually deviant."

"What — no! They can do _tricks_. And they play with you!" 

The corner of Yata's lip twitches. "I'm not terribly impressed by fish, generally speaking."

"Dolphins are mammals!"

"Case in point."

"That's not—" Hideya doesn't quite make it through the sentence as he finds himself laughing, because it's absurd — but so _Yata_ — that he knows about the social behavior of dolphins, but not their scientific classification. "You don't even want to go to the aquarium, do you?"

Yata gives him a quick smile, shaking his head. "I'd like to go with you."

Hideya catches his breath. Or maybe his breath catches in his throat. 

"Why?"

"You said _The Little Mermaid_ was your favorite movie, growing up."

"No, I meant." Hideya hears a magazine page crinkle under his fingers. "Why do you want to go — with me."

Yata looks at him. Hideya can hear his own heartbeat in his ears, and it should stop doing that, honestly, because it's so loud he might miss what Yata says next, and if he's right, then he's been waiting a _really_ long time to hear this, so—

"I don't like cliches," Yata says. "In life and in art. It's like a blindness. Acting out something the way you think it's supposed to go, it's hard to see what's really me and what's just other people's expectations, their ideas of who I should be, and not who I could be."

"You're not a cliche," Hideya blurts, unable to help himself. The last thing Yata could be is unoriginal. 

Yata doesn't seem to mind that Hideya interrupted him. "I try not to be. But I may have overcorrected, and that's just as bad. Focusing that hard on what I _don't_ want also constitutes a form of blindness."

"What _do_ you want?"

"I want to go to the aquarium with you," Yata says. Sun in his hair, a smile on his lips. "Because I like you. And I would like to take you on a date. If that's all right with you."

The train carries them onward, Tokyo fading amidst scenery Yata's not even looking at. That he probably hasn't been looking at, at all, this whole time. If the way he's looking at Hideya now is any indication.

And there's that light-footed feeling again, same as earlier — like he could run, like he could leap from the ground to the sky and never once worry where he might land.

A laugh bubbles past his lips. 

Yata looks at him with a question in his eyes.

Hideya tries to think of words to match what Yata just said, then realizes there's no point. There's no need, when all he has to say is, "Okay," and, "Yes." The words come out almost like a song. "Let's go to the aquarium." He bites his lip; he can't seem to stop smiling. "It's a date."

 

* * *

 

"My parents have no chill," Yata says, without preamble, as they disembark from the train. "Fair warning, because my mother is liable to ply you with food and ask increasingly invasive questions about everything. My advice: shut them down early, firmly, and as often as needed. It's none of their business."

Yata leads the way down the platform toward the exit. Hideya catches his arm before he gets too far; Yata walks too fast when he's nervous, or on a mission. Yata on a nervous mission is an Olympic-grade speed walker.

"Yata-chan."

Yata looks up when Hideya tugs on his sleeve. Hideya drops his hand.

"Just want you to be prepared," Yata says. 

Hideya shakes his head. "I don't mind." He can feel a faint flush creeping up his neck, probably toward his ears. But he means what he says. "I don't mind telling your parents — that we're dating."

His ears are definitely red now.

Yata takes his hand.

"We haven't actually gone on a date yet," Yata points out. His voice is wry, though, instead of nervous. And that's good.

It lets him breathe a little easier, and even say, 

"Keyword being _yet_."

That makes Yata raise an eyebrow, and Hideya feels himself flush even harder, which shouldn't even be possible. At this rate, the blush is going to be a permanent stain on his skin by the time they get to Yata's house, so it's not like his parents will even _need_ to ask unsubtle questions, not when it's clearly written all over his face—

Yata takes a half-step closer, and kisses him.

A slight, gentle pressure, almost lost in the way Yata presses against him — standing on tiptoe — and then gone again, though a spot of warmth lingers. On his lips. In his chest.

Hideya doesn't remember closing his eyes, but when he opens them, Yata is smiling. A touch of color high on his cheeks. Hand still holding his.

"Come on then," Yata says, and Hideya follows him home.


End file.
